


Tell My Love The Secret

by LadyHallen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Do not repost, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Female Harry Potter, One Shot, genderbender, impossible spy shit, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27365170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHallen/pseuds/LadyHallen
Summary: While infiltrating a casino, Harry meets a hitman.Or that Spy AU I thought about writing five years ago.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter/Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Hermione Granger & Harry Potter
Comments: 36
Kudos: 558





	Tell My Love The Secret

“I can’t believe you’re the same woman I met in the bar last night,” Reborn remarked, surprised but so delighted by it that it made her wary.

Harry rolled her eyes at the ridiculous man, hands gripping a Flame-powered gun. She checked it automatically and holstered it on her thigh. It did not escape her notice that his eyes follow her every move.

“Why?” she asked, finally looking at him properly. His fedora was the only thing in the room not dirty or stained with blood. There’s blood trickling out of his mouth and dripping down his chin that’s steadily abating and a wicked smile on that mobile mouth. “Because I drank fruity margarita’s and complained about vodka to you?”

He laughed. It’s a deep and rasping thing that sent shivers down her spine. Harry does her best to ignore it.

“Because you looked more the type to go on seduction missions than shoot-outs,” he said.

Well. Point.

Harry had been wearing a slinky little dress that had a long-ass slit on the side, an almost see through back and dangerous red heels. She had been so uncomfortable though that she had been surprised no one else noticed. For all her life choices, she blamed Fred and George. For that dress, she blamed Ginny Weasley.

Harry blushed at the memory. “I don’t usually wear dresses like that. I lost a bet.”

Reborn still looked amused.

“Anyway,” she said loudly, changing the subject so obviously that her inner Hermione cringed. “What were you doing here? This can’t have been a rescue mission?”

“Infiltration – “ he starts to say.

Harry snorted without wanting to. “Sorry. It’s just the thought of you being subtle just breaks my brain.”

He rolls his eyes. “Let me finish. My partner was caught infiltrating and had to run, so she couldn’t finish getting intel. They sent me here to finish the job instead.”

And by Merlin’s beard did he finish it.

The boss is unconscious and tied up, all the bodyguards dead and no one the wiser. She didn’t know how he had managed to not alert anyone at all, but he did and she is so impressed.

“I’m impressed. Why are you sitting on the mini-bar counter though? There are chairs right there?” she asks.

His face looks serious though his eyes twinkle with mischief. “Aesthetic,” he deadpans.

She’d expected injuries, or unstable chairs or even unstable flooring because he’d shot them. She did not expect that answer.

Harry starts laughing. It’s an unexpected and completely uncontrollable thing but she rolls with it, because by Merlin, she is forgetting what it feels like to laugh with abandon.

Reborn smiles at her, a genuine thing that tells her he appreciates the sound of it.

“You have a beautiful laugh,” he says. “I didn’t hear it clearly in the bar last night, what with the music. You should laugh more often.”

A blush starts rising up her cheeks unbidden. Harry is aware enough to know that she’s flustered. It’s embarrassing. She can’t remember the last time she is so flustered.

“You ridiculous man,” she splutters. “Stop that. We have to clean up before whatever you did wears off.”

Reborn checks his watch. “Not for another two hours. I was very thorough.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Harry ignores him as best as she could and starts wiping surfaces for prints and residues. Flame powered guns are an amazing weapon, but the residue it leaves is unique and there are only a handful of famiglia’s in the world that uses it.

“You are though,” Reborn continues, voice a little farther into the room and closer to where the Boss’s computers are located. “Beautiful I mean. And it’s not just when you were wearing that dress. You’re beautiful like that too.”

Harry stumbles over the broken leg of a chair. The blush that never really went away comes back with a vengeance. She turns to look at him and gets an eyeful of that devastating smile. It ought to be weaponized.

“I-“ she stutters. She has not stuttered since third year. Harry wants to die, but she also wants to continue talking to him, heaven knows why. It must be that confidence that she wants to burrow into and wear like a blanket.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says. “I still have time before I report in. Coffee?”

If that isn’t an excuse to pry who she works for, she’d eat her gun. That should be her first thought. She had to be wary. Her mouth runs away with her and says, “I like tea better, but alright. How does ten tomorrow morning sound?”

Harry bites down on her tongue, the traitorous thing.

His smile is a soft, private thing that makes the heat on her cheeks feel scorching. “Heathen. Coffee heretic. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

Reborn didn’t touch her in that entire exchange, except to shove her down to avoid a hail of bullets and a chair tossed in her direction. Before they part ways, he tucks in a stray curl of hair behind her ear, so close that she could feel the heat of him.

“Good night, _stellina_ ,” he whispers before leaving.

Harry takes in a large breathe of air and tries not to faint with the amount of blood rushing to her cheeks.

.

* * *

.

“How is Florence?” Hermione asks.

Harry feels warm at the sight of her friend, curls brilliant and eyes shining with wit. She’s the very picture of health, not the broken woman that had gone with her once she’d announced leaving England.

“It’s nice,” Harry says. “There was actually another person after the information already, so we were a bit too late. They tied up everything.”

Hermione’s smile goes down a notch, a furrow appearing in her brow. “Anyone we know? Rival famiglia?”

The word still sounds awkward in her friends mouth. Harry didn’t blame her, the language still tripped her up in the most inopportune moments.

“His name is Reborn,” Harry says and sees Hermione blanch. “I know that he usually contracts with the Vongola.”

Rapid typing happens, along with green lightning making Hermione’s hair bushier. Harry wants to cringe at the stress she’s causing her friend.

“Vongola is actually cleaning up their act since Decimo took over,” Hermione explains, still pale. “But Harry. Reborn. He’s…um. He’s the World’s Greatest Hitman.”

Harry could feel her eyebrows going up, and she should be alarmed that she has a coffee date with a man that has such a legendary title.

What does occur to her is “Hermione, how do they know?” she blurts out. “Do they have meeting and ask how many people they kill or something?”

Hermione doesn’t look so pale, not when she looks like she wants to strangle Harry. “Potter, that is not the point here.”

Harry waves a hand. “No really, how do they know?”

Green lightning sparks again, this time a bigger thing that actually turns Hermione’s hair faintly green. Harry gulps at the belated realization that Hermione really wants to strangle her.

“Sorry,” Harry apologizes. “He was very nice in the bar last night and he didn’t actually try and stop me when I went to pull what you wanted form their computers.”

A look crosses Hermione’s face, too blurry for her to decipher and not staying that long anyway.

“Nice,” Hermione deadpanned. “The World’s Greatest Hitman was nice to you. You were wearing that dress weren’t you? The one Ginny picked out when her scores in the Shoot Score Board surpassed yours in accuracy last week?”

Harry’s silence is answer enough, as is her blush, even if it likely could not be deciphered clearly on Hermione’s end.

“Harry, why are you so attracted to dangerous things? Is it the adrenaline rush?” Hermione sighs. “Never mind, don’t answer that. Try to stay away from him when you check-out of the hotel tomorrow, okay?”

The screen cut off and Harry is left alone in the darkness of the hotel room before she could tell her best friend that ‘actually, the man you want me to avoid asked me to a coffee date and I said yes’.

Harry stifled slightly hysterical laughter into her pillow.

.

* * *

.

Harry doesn’t tell anyone about the coffee date, or how it turned out.

Reborn had been so charming and his sense of humor making her laugh so hard that she’d agreed to another possible meeting without too much reluctance. She had wanted to say no, to stop what path they were stepping on. A more rational part of her had argued that they could just stay contacts, no matter how attractive he was. The rest of her wanted to see him again, because he made her laugh and feel respected.

Harry buries that coffee date under weariness and cold indifference. She does not want anyone at their small organization to notice that she feels like she could fly without a broom.

Ginny greets her at the airport with a shit eating grin and a pot of tea.

“Merlin’s blessed pants,” Harry sighs, gulping down properly made tea. No one made tea like Ginny.

“Yes, I am amazing aren’t I?” Ginny says, reaching down and grabbing Harry’s luggage. “Now, a little birdie told me that you really did wear that dress I got for you. Evidence, my dear.”

Harry had almost forgotten the mortification of wearing a dress that had a see-through back. She regrets her choice of friends so much.

“Ginny,” she groans. “Haven’t I suffered enough? I had to infiltrate misogynist assholes in that dress. I wanted to have three million showers afterwards.”

The redhead looks sympathetic but still amused. “So you did wear it. You know, all I wanted to hear was a sorry.”

Harry raises her eyes upwards in a plea for help. “Ginevra, I was drunk when I declared I could outshoot anyone in our organization. Why do you do this to me?”

Ginny laughs wickedly. “Because I love you and I want you to get laid. It’s been months since the last one, my dear. It’s not healthy to repress yourself.”

Inadvertently, Harry remembered Reborn’s parting kiss to her cheek. It had been a chaste thing but she had felt it sear her like a brand. She feels the blush rising and hopes to whatever god is watching that Ginny does not notice.

Her hopes are in vain because the redhead takes one look at her face and outright _cackles_. “Holy shit. How hot were they?” her eyebrows waggle and Harry gives up and covers her face with her hands.

“Come on, Harry~” Ginny singsongs. “Tell me everything!”

Regret. So much regret.

.

* * *

.

At the end of the war, Harry had felt so cold, so empty and so tired that she’d envied Voldemort. Wherever he was, however his soul was, at least he was already at rest.

It didn’t help that Ron was gone too, taken down when he’d decided to stay behind with his brothers while Harry and Hermione had gone on to the Shrieking Shack to find Nagini. Hermione had never been the same ever since.

Deciding to leave England had been the best decision she’d ever made. Telling Hermione had been a stroke of luck, an accident but a happy one given that Hermione didn’t even hesitate in agreeing to go with her.

A month in Italy, while still smarting from the war and mostly confused now that the Prophecy had been fulfilled, George and Ginny joined them, having tracked them with a hare-brained invention. (It had been an invention that was so alarmingly efficient that Harry was momentarily grateful that both of them weren’t as evil as Voldemort.)

Amidst the ruins of their lives, trying and failing to pick a destination outside of Italy and England, the four of them just….decided to put roots and never leave instead.

.

* * *

.

“I have another mission for you,” Hermione declares during breakfast.

Harry blearily blinks through the steam from her tea and tries to wake herself up faster. Having Hermione shoving folders at your face needed more brainpower than she could manage at six in the morning.

“Hmph? Mission? I just got back,” Harry clearly says with great effort.

Hermione pushes away Harry’s hash browns and scrambled eggs and plops the folder in front of her. “I just need you to go meet a contact. All you need to do is drop a package.”

Harry cradles her mug protectively in case Hermione got it in her head to take it away too. “What about Ginny?” she asks. Because the redhead, being the baby of the group, tended to be sent on relatively low-risk missions. Ginny hates it, but while Harry sympathizes, she also has immense respect for George Weasley in a temper.

“She’s meeting suppliers for George’s things in R&D. He’s improving the Flame Powered guns so that you wouldn’t have to use a cleaning charm every time you fire one,” is the prompt response.

It would save Harry so much trouble if George succeeded.

With a sigh, Harry downs her mug without wincing at the heat and stumbles to the bathroom.

“We need to have a vacation,” Harry calls out. “And you better schedule me one before I start pranking people, Granger.”

“Harriet Potter, don’t you dare!” Hermione calls back. “I know where you sleep!”

Harry pokes her head out of the bathroom door, intent on saying the last word. “I know where _you_ sleep, that’s not much of a threat my dear.”

She closes it to Hermione’s sigh of exasperation.

.

* * *

.

The next time they meet, Harry isn’t helping Reborn take down an entire group of Mafioso or wearing a slinky dress in a bar. Instead, Harry is shelving books in a local library in Spain and eavesdropping in a conversation between two mafia groups.

It’s a fascinating conversation and she is so grateful that she’s gotten into the habit to record everything. Decoding it is going to be difficult and she’s half dreading the sleepless nights. Then, a hand clamps down on her shoulder and it takes everything in her to not flip him over her shoulder. Instead, she’d gone stiff.

“You’re putting those books in the wrong shelves,” the familiar deep voice comments. “I’m pretty sure they’re using the DD Classification.”

Harry turns to him with a scowl, trying to calm her beating heart.

“What are you doing here?” she whispers.

His smile does nothing to calm her down. He still wore the same fedora, but no suit jacket in sight, just a crisp white shirt with a yellow tie, sleeves rolled up his forearms. He was so distracting that it was unfair.

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s my question. You’re in my territory now, _stellina_.”

Harry drops the books on the shelf and sigh. Her cover is blown anyway. “My boss has a significant interest in how this meeting will turn out,” she says reluctantly. “Several of our clients are willing to pay gold to know.”

Reborn stops looming in her space and the significant lack of it made her want to sigh in relief. No matter how handsome, Reborn is intimidating.

“So, no assassination?” he clarifies. “Good to know.”

Harry pouts at him. “I don’t do wet work. I just infiltrate. You’re the only one who keeps noticing me.”

The look he gave in response to that told her that he remembers how they first met. Harry blushes.

“Special circumstances,” she defends herself. “I didn’t know you were already there assassinating them. I just wanted a go at their computers.”

“Ah,” he says. “Hence why you were dressed like a maid then. You are pretty good, I wouldn’t have noticed until you helped me and pulled out your gun.”

Harry had the gun as insurance. Even if she didn’t do assassinations, Hermione wanted her to be safe and magic was out of the question, hence the gun.

“You still didn’t answer my question, you know?” she whispers. His presence is distracting for a lanky man. Harry refused to lose her head around him.

“What question?” he murmurs. His dark eyes are concealed under the shadow of his fedora and what she can see from his face was blank. But his hands are steady and gentle on her shoulders.

“What you’re here for,” she clarifies. “It’s not assassination, is it?”

He smiles at her and vanished behind a few bookshelves. Harry wanted to groan. He was the most infuriating man she had ever met, and she had gone to school with Draco Malfoy.

“Infuriating,” she hisses under her breath. He’s so lucky he’s hot.

He had distracted her and Harry only has the first half of the meeting in her recorder. What calms her temper is the lily on top of her books, very clearly not there previously.

She hides her smile behind her scarf, and continues shelving books.

.

* * *

.

Harry is climbing up the building with ingenuity and sheer nerve.

Yes, she knows it’s crazy to climb up the fiftieth floor with just a rope, but the files she needs are in there and she has a parachute.

Harry still curses the day the four of them all promised to stop using magic. It had hurt at the start but they’d gotten used to it. Still, times like these when she’s climbing up a tower, she dearly missed magic.

By the thirty eighth floor, a window opens and a hand grabs her, pulling her in effortlessly.

“Are you insane?” Reborn hisses. He looks shocked and his eyes are wide.

Harry breathes for a second. Yes, she had nerve, but that was still terrifying.

“No,” she says curtly. “Well, maybe. But I need to enter the fiftieth floor and it’s too heavily guarded for me.”

He squeezes her hand. “Why are you like this?” he sighs. “I’ll help you out. So you don’t die.”

She smiles at him impishly. “I wouldn’t die, I have a parachute.”

“That doesn’t make it better!!” he says with a groan. “You better not tell anyone I’m helping you.”

With his help, they she manages to infiltrate the office without climbing outside the building for the rest of the twelve floors. Instead, she used the stairs. Like a normal person. How novel.

When they part ways, Harry thanks him with a kiss.

“Minx,” he tells her fondly.

“You love it,” she says, before leaping out of the window and pulling out her parachute.

.

* * *

.

The gig is up, however, when Harry is relaxing in their headquarters and suddenly gets a feeling of foreboding.

“Harry,” says Hermione in _that_ voice. “Why did we receive a letter of alliance from Vongola Decimo asking specifically for your attendance?”

Harry gulped, debated on running away and found herself held in place by Ginny’s hand on her shoulders.

“Yes, Harry,” the red-head said with a wicked smile. “Tell us all about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prelude (predraft?) to the Accidentally Courting your assassin.
> 
> I wrote this first, then that one. Never posted this and saw it in my drive and went, what the hell.
> 
> Comments please!!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Accidentally Courting your Assassin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16556978) by [LadyHallen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHallen/pseuds/LadyHallen)




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